London
THERE'S A WEEK TO GO until the British election, and it's a typical day for Tony Blair. During the morning press conference, he is variously accused, by reporters and opponents, of having lied to take his country to war in Iraq, of having covered up advice from senior lawyers that the war was illegal, and of having smothered internal dissent about his foreign policy. After lunch, on the stump in the west of England, he is pressing the flesh of some hesitant-looking voters when one turns away, and with hands clasped firmly to her sides, says, "I will not shake the hand of a killer." Over dinner back in London, he hears news that a veteran Labour MP has left his party to join the left wing and antiwar Liberal Democrats, urging voters to "give Mr. Blair a bloody nose" in the election this Thursday.
Then, just before he crawls into his Downing Street bed, the prime minister receives the latest batch of opinion polls from tomorrow's newspapers. Labour is increasing its lead over the Conservatives--to 10 percentage points in one poll--pointing to another huge, historic parliamentary majority of perhaps more than 100 seats. It is hard to recall an election anywhere in recent memory when a political leader so apparently disliked, despised, and distrusted was so assured of being kept in office with a solid mandate for another term. But this curious state of affairs is only one aspect of the enigma that is Tony Blair and modern British politics.
To Americans
who follow these things, the standing of the British prime minister is hard to fathom. American conservatives revere him as the steadfast ally of President George Bush, the solid friend of America who stood firm in the darkest days of the war against terrorism. Bush himself, though diplomatically quiet during the campaign, has not disguised his desire to see Blair continue in office. Yet Democrats, even those who opposed the war, admire the way Blair has done something they have signally failed to do: take the main left-of-center party out of the wilderness and fashion it into the most effective electoral machine in Western politics.
The Democratic party's high priests of electoral strategy have flocked to London in the last few months to offer help to Blair's campaign and, perhaps, to learn a thing or two themselves. Bob Shrum, the eight-time losing presidential campaign adviser, was here this month. Joe Trippi, Howard Dean's campaign manager, has also sipped tea with Blair at Downing Street. "I wasn't really there to offer advice. I admire him enormously," Trippi told me.
How is it that the man lionized by both George Bush and Joe Trippi could be so loathed by the British, with apparently equal energy and, it seems, in an oddly parallel way, by both sides of the political divide? And how is it that, despite the loathing, he still seems assured of victory--and is set to become only the second British prime minister in more than a century to win three straight parliamentary majorities?
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